Goose Pond - The Miracle of Easy Flight & Awkward Landings
Carrie's Sunday Post
This weekend I traveled with some friends to visit a protected wetlands in south central Indiana called Goose Pond, guided by a wonderful naturalist and birder, David Rupp. We had all bundled up in layers, wearing warm hats and gloves, scarves wrapped twice around our necks, to brave the north winds that blow cold and bitting across those wet marshy fields. While visiting different locations that day we chanced upon the miracle of seven migrating whooping cranes that were feeding in a marsh just off the path. Not so long ago whooping cranes were on the very brink of extinction. But with intense efforts to protect and reintroduce these beautiful birds there is a small but growing number of them still thriving in this region of the country. They stop at Goose Pond sometimes on their journey south. Yet, to see one (let alone seven) is to feel a rush of gratitude and wonder. Several times during the day we saw rough legged and Harrier hawks, circling and hovering above the beige and brown November fields. Close to sundown the hawks ended their day, overlapping and then trading places with several Short-eared owls as they came out for their evening hunt.
Goose Pond is also on the direct migratory path of the sandhill cranes. While watching the whooping cranes we began to hear the sound of the sandhill’s distinctive call high above us. As we looked up there were wave upon wave of of sandhill cranes, hundreds of them sailing in, landing on the wet ground, gathering to rest and feed before continuing their journey. If you’ve ever watched a sandhill crane land its actually beautifully elegant and surprisingly awkward. They make their descent with wings fully extended, gliding in groups toward the ground. Finally they drop their legs readying for impact, beginning to hover a bit. Then with a jumble of joints and feathers and beaks (the entire group wrangling for a spot on the ground) they roll into a funky run-walk and finally land. First, to see these rafts of so many many birds in full migration, to hear their familiar and lovely calls is enough to make my heart suddenly and completely open, with a longing and ache that is as sharp as cold water on a tender tooth. But there is also something so amusing and endearing to see them bumble to the ground. They are both/and - the sublime and the humorous, perfect and effortless, a little awkward and not always completely in control of everything including how fast the ground rises up to meet their feet.
There are somethings I do that feel so familiar and they proceed from me smoothly; singing in the kitchen, hugging, chopping carrots, sewing on a button. But there are things that I just don’t have the same kind of facility, things that I’ve never found effortless or easy like having my good intentions misunderstood, juggling, or walking into big noisy party with lots of people I don’t know.
I learned something about awe, acceptance and delight while watching those sandhill cranes. I thrill to the sound of their call at migratory season and appreciate the elegant beauty and grace of their steady beating wings. I love that they know how to fly in community and help one another on a long journey. I’m in awe of their internal sense of direction trust in their own inner voices. And I love that they trip a little bit when they land. It’s good sometimes…the hard and soft, the elegant and awkward, the extraordinary ordinary bits of living.
(Below is a poem I wrote a couple of years ago after hearing the sandhill cranes near my home).
When Things Come Together
I stepped out of my car
With arms full of groceries,
Carrots and potatoes,
Broccoli and onions.
An ordinary sack of ordinary things.
Just then, high overhead,
Came wave upon wave
Of migrating sandhill cranes.
They were elegant and determined, Calling to one another
Across the clear December sky.
Suddenly,
While I was watching,
A great number released themselves from formation. They opened and gathered,
Hovered and honked,
Blossoming like spilled ink in blue water,
Skating randomly around like Jesus bugs on a pond.
And then, without any apparent reason That could be seen from the ground, They remembered and returned, Realigned and regained direction.
Catching and attending
To the calling
Of a common commitment
To the pulse of a shared heartbeat Recreating their connections
Washing forward wing to wing to wing.
Sometimes things come together. And we don't know why.
Maybe the wind shifted
Or the light changed.
Maybe it was a bit of courage Or a moment of clarity. Maybe the eternal called
Or an internal clock chimed.
All I know is that somewhere, Something keeps weaving.
Creating whole cloth
From what seems hopelessly unraveled. Something keeps nudging our hearts
In the right general direction, Pulling the threads
Of membership
Of kinship
Of connection Mending the gaps Wing to wing to wing.
By Carrie Newcomer
From Until Now: New PoemsSpecial Supporting Subscriber Event - A Zoom Conversation with Carrie Newcomer & Phyllis Cole-Dai
Sunday, December 3, 2023 6PM CT (7PM ET, 5PM MT, 4PM PT) I’ll be co-hosting an hour long live conversation with Phyllis Cole-Dai (author, poet and host of The Raft “Living From Our Yes: A Conversation About Creativity, Gratitude & Community” Join Phyllis Cole-Dai and Carrie Newcomer for a live Zoom event about “living from our yes”. Together we will muse on the process of translating lived experience into a creative medium and embracing the entirety of life as a creative practice. By leaning into our lives with affirmation, gratitude and wonder, we build connections within ourselves.
All supporting subscribers will be sent a private Zoom link on December 2nd to all supporting subscribers!
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For Those In The Bloomington Indiana Area - Bloomington Roots Concert With Over The Rhine & John Paul White - February 24, 2023
Over the past few years I’ve had the great pleasure of doing many shows with my good friends, Over The Rhine. They are exquisite writers, musicians, performers…and human beings. Its a double bill with the amazing songwriter, John Paul White (formerly of the Civil Wars). Presale tickets with promo code “BROOTS” at this link.
I loved this, beautiful description of these amazing birds. I've had the good fortune to see it and so I totally understand.
My Sandhill Crane Story
It was spring in Montana. The air was still cool, the ground still squishy, but the sun was warm on my face. Midst the chirping of the morning birds came this horrible scream calling for help. We just knew it was a newborn fawn. We raced up the hill behind the cabin with brave intention to rescue this sweet little thing. The bears were awake now too, but we didn’t care. Is that crazy or what?
We followed the sound, searched and searched only to find nothing; nothing but this white stuff splattered all over the ground underneath a gigantic fir tree. Oh, the white stuff. Looking up, we heard it again. The moan of a need, the screech of instinctual desire was just overhead. They wanted it bad. Feeling rather silly we left them alone to do whatever it is they do. You see, some sandhill cranes mate in this part of Montana.
I initially felt fear and horror at hearing an unfamiliar sound. I feared the worst when I didn’t understand. I learned something about my knee jerk reactions that day. I needed to revisit this lesson. Thank-you, Carrie. Your stories always help in more ways than one.
“Tripping as they land…” I love it! ( I got to smile even as I sighed)